


All I Ever Wanted

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Altered States, Bodily Fluids, Bondage, Bottom!Eames, Community: kink_bingo, Dream Sex, Emotion Play, M/M, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Arthur and Eames did on their private beach vacation. A tale of five kinks, and a coda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> More tags to come. Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 6. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

The sun was warm on Eames’ chest, almost unbearably so, just the way he liked it; the tide was lulling him into a nap; and on top of that, his drink was making him sleepy. He had almost drifted off when he sensed a shadow over him, meaning that Arthur had come back from his dip in the waves.

Eames opened his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of Arthur in a tiny black Speedo. He looked like every Olympic diver fantasy Eames had ever had, only better, as he was actually present, with a decidedly touchable flat abdomen and Iliac crests.

“Hey,” Arthur said, hands on his hips, letting Eames admire him some more. 

“Hello, love,” Eames said, shielding his eyes with his hand and squinting in order to look at Arthur as long as possible. “I’m rather sorry I didn’t get to see you getting out of the water, like Ursula Andress. Or Daniel Craig.”

Arthur glanced down at himself and shrugged; Eames supposed he was thinking he had neither Ursula’s curves nor Daniel’s stocky muscle, and while Arthur knew he was good-looking, he might not have found himself especially remarkable in comparison. Eames would have to make his feelings on that matter clear.

“Maybe later. Do you need more sunscreen?” Arthur asked. Always looking after one, was Arthur.

“Perhaps in a bit,” Eames acknowledged. “Your drink’s nearly melted, you know.” They’d made some mojitos before coming out. Pity they couldn’t have a bartender or the like to do it for them, but such was the cost of a very private beach.

Sitting on his chair sideways, facing Eames, Arthur picked up his glass from the sand and took a long drink. Eames watched the water drip down his skin. “Why aren’t we nude, again?” he asked.

“I told you, we don’t want sunburn on our dicks.”

“I’d put sunscreen wherever you asked, Arthur, I truly would,” Eames said, and sighed, shaking his head. Arthur just scoffed. Arthur would not be swayed, he knew, but it was a mental image he liked to speak aloud. 

He closed his eyes again, and heard Arthur shake the remaining bits of ice around in his glass. He’d almost dozed off again when he felt it.

The sudden, very vivid feel of ice on his nipple.

His eyes flew open. He went rigid all over at first, then nearly sat up. Arthur grinned down at him, sunkissed, dark curls falling about his face.

“Sorry,” Arthur said, still grinning.

“You’re not sorry in the slightest,” Eames mock-grumbled. 

Arthur leaned in and blew on his nipple. “I’m not,” he agreed.

Eames’ heart was still pounding. “Can’t you at least do the other one as well,” he found himself saying.

Arthur raised a brow, and ran the bit of ice around Eames’ other nipple. Eames practically tilted his entire body toward him as Arthur leaned in to blow on that one too.

“Very interesting, Mr. Eames.”

“Oh, shut it.”

“No, no, it really is interesting.” Arthur got up entirely, setting down his glass in the sand again, and laid on Eames like a lizard sunning himself on a warm rock. He was wet and sleek. Eames wrapped his arms around him and shifted to accommodate his form, finding a very agreeable rubbing together of their increasingly interested cocks in the process. 

Arthur kissed his neck and his jaw and his mouth, and caught him by surprise when he pinched his nipple. They both felt his cock jump where it was wedged against Arthur’s groin.

Arthur’s response to his barely perceptible intake of breath was a soft, knowing chuckle. He raised himself up and looked down at Eames’ chest. “Oh, the things I could do to your tits.”

Eames shivered, even as he felt his skin go hot. “Don’t be a tease.”

“You know I’m not teasing.”

Arthur was still rubbing against him, slow and distracted but deliberate nonetheless, in a faint mimicry of fucking him, and Eames felt suddenly desperate and restless. “Go on, then,” he said, voice thick, “let’s see what you can do out here. Going to find a crab to pinch them?”

Arthur rubbed a thumb over his nipple. “Nope. Got everything I need.”

He sat back on Eames’ thighs, and rubbed the tips of his thumbs in light, small circles over both of his nipples at the same time. It was a maddeningly light touch. “You are a bloody tease,” Eames sighed.

Arthur pinched him, hard, and Eames jumped. He closed his eyes, and inhaled in a little huff. “Shit,” Arthur remarked, “you really are sensitive.”

When it came to bedmates, Eames was generally agreeable, willing to go along with what they wanted, within reason. If everyone involved got off and was happy, he was fine with it.

This did mean, however, that his particular wants and needs weren’t often sussed out, which was just as well when one was talking about a one-night stand or a casual fuck. 

It was just as well, also, if you didn’t want people to know too much about you.

Eames’ particular turn-ons weren’t usually in the spotlight.

Then, apparently, there was Arthur. 

Arthur bent to close his teeth on Eames’ left nipple, his dark wet hair brushing Eames’ chest as he made to suck at it, pulling off with a pop that left Eames tingling. Before he could recover, Arthur gave the other the same treatment. He raised his head to admire the now pinker, more swollen nipples, and said in that lovely low voice of his, “I think I could make you come from this.” Then he lowered his head again, and lapped at Eames’ nipples with a pointed tongue, then a flat one, remembering the areolae (Arthur was one for detail).

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Arthur said, glancing down between them, “but you are really wet right now.” He pressed a palm to the shaft of Eames’ cock snug against his trunks; it pulsed against his warm hand. “I’ve never seen you this worked up. And you’re barely saying anything.”

Eames opened his mouth, then closed it.

“That’s fine, though,” Arthur continued. “You don’t have to say anything.” He sat up again, and reached for his glass in the sand, taking out two more ice cubes. He ran these slowly all over Eames’ chest, skating them close to his nipples but not quite on them. Just as Eames was gearing up to issue threats, Arthur ran the ice over them at last.

“I’d love to get you some clamps,” Arthur mused, “really good ones, and leave them on while I fuck you, and then snatch them off when you come, and then ice you down.”

Eames groaned and let his head fall back on the chair. Arthur ground down on him, and Eames raised his hips automatically, eager for weight and friction.

“I’d tie you up,” Arthur continued, letting the melting ice slide away and rolling Eames’ nipples between his thumbs and forefingers whilst rocking his hips. Eames couldn’t help noticing that Arthur was starting to get a little breathless as well, voice rougher. And of course his cock was hard, obviously he enjoyed this, but that slight tremor in his tone -- that told Eames this was really doing something for Arthur as well, and that suddenly made him _need_ to come.

“Arthur,” he said, low and urgent.

“I know,” Arthur replied, “I want you to come. Wait, let me flip us.”

Eames barely had time to get out a groan of protest before Arthur, with his usual yet surprising agile strength, maneuvered them into switching places. Beneath Eames now, he grinned up at him, pulled Eames’ hips close and ground up against him, and then reached between them to pinch Eames’ nipples.

Eames gasped, letting his head fall forward. Arthur kissed his cheek, briefly. “I want you to come,” he said again, voice low and close. His fingers pinched and squeezed, and Eames rutted helplessly against him, barely bothering to consider how clumsy this entire situation was. The sun was unbearably hot on his skin now, just like he liked it, and he could feel sweat trickling down his spine to his lower back.

“I’ll fuck you like this too,” Arthur said, rough, “with you riding my cock and I’ll do this,” and he pinched Eames _hard_. Eames ground down and came.

Arthur released him at just the right moment and the rush of relief made him gasp. He let himself slump onto Arthur, who moved his hands just in time and wrapped his arms around him. 

“Didn’t you--” Eames started, voice muffled.

Arthur chuckled softly. “Not yet. I’m not in a rush, I’m giving you a second.”

“I don’t need a second. I thought you were going to come too,” Eames said against the skin of Arthur’s neck.

“I was close. Okay, get up. Kneel in the sand for me,” Arthur said, pushing at Eames’ shoulders.

Eames groaned as he sat up and stretched, keenly aware of his sticky trunks, and knelt in the hot sand. Arthur stood on unsteady legs, skin flushed from more than the sun now. His cock stretched out his wee Speedos; he took it out and stroked it slowly. Eames watched, mesmerized, and leaned in, preparing to taste it, licking his lips before he fully realized it.

“No, no,” Arthur said, voice amused but slightly strained. “As much as I appreciate that, I’ve got other plans....” He paused, tilting his head. “Okay, we’ll start out with a little of that.”

Eames took him in, and hummed. He barely had a chance to enjoy sucking Arthur’s cock, however, before Arthur was pulling back, stroking himself again, and then coming on Eames’ chest. Catching on, Eames tilted his head back, eyes on Arthur’s cock.

“There,” Arthur breathed, satisfied, observing how his come dripped over Eames’ nipples.

“Indeed,” Eames said. After a moment, he observed, “It seems we’re in need of a good rinsing.”

“C’mon,” Arthur said, shedding his Speedos and walking toward the shoreline, carrying them. Eames nearly tripped over himself getting his trunks off, carrying them as well, following him into the water.

They rinsed their things, and themselves; trunks in hand Arthur leaned in and kissed him. Eames pulled him close. Arthur nipped at his lips, and Eames opened for him.

At some later point, Arthur rested his forehead against Eames’. “So,” he said.

“Mmm?”

“So. That was interesting.”

Eames stiffened a bit. “Yes. Hadn’t we better go inside before we get, what did you call it, sunburns on our dicks?”

“Mm, I know, soon.” He kissed Eames’ jaw, his ear, his neck. “You don’t want to talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” Eames tilted his head; Arthur nipped at him.

“Well. You liked that.” Arthur shifted back to look at him; his regard was calm, no mockery or judgment. Just a bit of smugness, but that was to be expected.

“I think that was clear.” Eames shrugged.

“You want more of that, stuff like that?”

Eames looked off into the water somewhere to Arthur’s right. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose so, yes.”

“I can do that for you.”

Eames ventured a look at him again, and now he _really_ looked pleased with himself.

“It’s okay,” Arthur said, stepping closer again, and kissing Eames before he could retort with “Of course it’s okay.” No doubt, however, Arthur got the message from the way Eames relaxed -- gradually -- against him.

Eames remembered what he had been thinking of earlier, and broke the kiss to say, “I meant to tell you, Arthur, you know, your dick’s a lot bigger than Ursula’s, and likely Daniel’s as well.”

Arthur looked exceedingly puzzled for a moment, and then laughed. “Thanks, Eames.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Eames said, and winked.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night in the beachhouse was cool and quiet; a breeze lightly sounded the windchime on the porch, and the waves were threatening to lull Eames to sleep again. Arthur was telling a story of the first time he’d given a blowjob, however, and Eames wanted to stay awake for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 6 for the square _bodily fluids_. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Night in the beachhouse was cool and quiet; a breeze lightly sounded the windchime on the porch, and the waves were threatening to lull Eames to sleep again. Arthur was telling a story of the first time he’d given a blowjob, however, and Eames wanted to stay awake for that. Besides, Eames was laying on Arthur, and if he fell asleep, Arthur would complain.

“I had never gotten oral before,” Arthur continued, in a musing tone, fingers idly massaging Eames’ scalp, “so I wasn’t exactly sure what to do.”

“But you wanted to do it right,” Eames supplied.

Arthur chuckled softly. “Yeah. He was cute, I liked him.”

“And this was in his bedroom, eh?”

“Yeah. So at this point, we’d totally forgotten about studying, obviously, and I remember he smelled like Irish Spring....” Arthur chuckled again. “I can never smell Irish Spring without flashing back. Anyway. So there we were, I was on my knees, he was on his bed, and... I put my hand around him, and licked him. He made this sound I’ll never forget. I went down on him, and I just tried to think about what I would like. And... he seemed pretty cool with it.”

Eames raised his head to look at him; Arthur looked faintly pleased with himself, and pink from the sun. Eames gave him a kiss. “Who wouldn’t be?” 

Settling in again, he decided it was his turn. “When I first gave head, I’d already had it done to me, just a few moments before, actually. Surprised I could keep it together in the first place. I was over the moon. He was a good bit older than I was, very confident, didn’t hesitate to give me instruction. Rather like you.”

“Except for the older part,” Arthur pointed out, amused.

“Of course. Well, I wanted to impress him, so I really laid it on thick. He kept talking about my lips, so I pulled out all the stops there, let him rub his cock on them, made sure he got a good show to watch.” 

Arthur shifted, and Eames trailed a hand down his side. “He told me that when he came, he wanted to shoot his load on my lips and tongue, rather than down my throat. So he did, and the look on his face....” Eames trailed off, chuckling. “I got it on my chin, and he reached out and wiped it up with his index finger and held it out to me, and I sucked it clean, and Arthur, I’m telling you, I was hard enough to pound nails.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yeah, I bet. Kind of... like I am, right now.”

“Serves you right for starting this topic of conversation.”

Arthur pulled lightly at his hair. “I wasn’t done with my story yet. But it’s not as good as yours, because I tried to swallow but it didn’t go that well.”

“Well, you’re very good at it now, if that’s any comfort.”

“If I do say so myself. But yeah, he didn’t complain.” Arthur’s fingers stroked the back of his neck.

Eames shifted slightly into the touch. “Did he do you next?”

“He gave me a handjob.”

“Oh, poor darling.” Eames clucked.

“I was fine with it, I was -- as you said -- hard enough to pound nails and wasn’t feeling picky.”

“But still. You should be perpetually given blowjobs.”

Arthur cocked his head. “As intriguing as that idea is, I think it would quickly get inconvenient.”

“You appreciate the sentiment, though, don’t you?”

“I do.” Arthur shifted to kiss the top of his head.

“You should come on my face more often,” Eames suggested. “On me, in general, I suppose.”

“Yeah? I liked that, earlier today, when I came on your chest.” Arthur shifted to look down at him. “I like seeing it on your skin. Especially when you’re all tan.”

“I like seeing it too,” Eames said, quiet.

“So, hey,” Arthur said after a long moment, “you want to recreate that? The first time you gave head, I mean? If you want.”

Eames felt a rush of affection for Arthur and his awkward directness. “I do, actually,” he said, sitting up to give Arthur another kiss. “But I most likely won’t buy you as an older man, so you can omit that aspect of it.”

Arthur looked a bit put out. “I think I’d do okay.”

“Arthur, no. Just be a bit bossy, that will be more than adequate.”

“So how will this be any different from any other time you blow me?” Arthur challenged, and Eames laughed.

“All right, well, how about: unlike the vast majority of times I blow you, you’ll be coming on me anywhere you choose.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Eames gave Arthur’s side a pinch, and then shifted to kiss his way down Arthur’s chest.

He draped himself over Arthur’s legs and set to his work. He lapped at Arthur’s cock, which lay against his belly, dark, and wet at the tip. Wrapping a hand around him to pull him down a bit, he took him in his mouth, and started bobbing his head, slowly at first, taking his time.

“Are you thinking about him?” he heard Arthur ask, husky.

Eames paused, raising his head for a moment to regard Arthur. He realized he hadn’t been thinking of Gerald at all. “No, actually,” he said, shaking his head.

A small smile from Arthur. “Good.”

“May I continue?” Eames said, amused.

“By all means.”

Eames jacked him slowly, sucked at the head of his cock, licked at the tip. His thoughts really were on Arthur now, nothing to do with Gerald. Or anyone else, for that matter. It was all about Arthur. 

Eames had an excellent memory; of course he recalled the preferences of those he’d slept with more than once. He liked to impress them with his recall, but what he felt right now was more than a simple need to show off how good he was at giving people what they wanted. He had a drive to please Arthur, full stop, he realized as he returned to bobbing his head, tongue applied generously to Arthur’s shaft.

“I can hear you thinking,” Arthur said. Eames took him deep, and hummed. “Correction,” Arthur added, in a strangled tone. “I can feel you thinking.”

It was difficult not to laugh at that, but Eames kept up his efforts, sucking lightly, playing the head of Arthur’s cock over his lips on every pass. He met Arthur’s gaze by chance, as he’d been so focused on what he was doing that his eyes had mostly been closed, and was then unable to look away.

In the light of the lamp on the bedside table, Arthur’s eyes were so very dark, glittering, focused totally on Eames. His half-lidded gaze told Eames everything.

Arthur’s lips were parted and he was breathing harder; his hips twitched on every pass. Close, he reached to lightly tug at Eames’ hair, and when Eames sat back, licking his lips, Arthur got to his knees and started stroking himself. 

As Eames laid down before him he started to come, as if triggered by the sight. He came on Eames’ mouth, his neck, his chest, his belly. A last dab decorated his cock.

Eames stretched, looking down at himself, licking a bit of come from his lips. He smiled. Arthur moved to touch his mouth, tracing his smile with a finger as another finger scooped up come. He slipped his finger into Eames’ mouth, and, content, Eames sucked it clean. Arthur hummed in his chest.

Arthur dipped his fingers and palm into the come that decorated Eames, and wrapped his hand around Eames’ cock. His grip was firm, and Eames didn’t need long. His come soon mixed with what remained of Arthur’s on his belly.

Releasing him and leaning down, Arthur lapped up the mingled come on Eames’ belly, chest, and neck, dropping kisses on the way, before finally lowering himself onto Eames and kissing him, smiling. More than once, he had to scoop his curls back with a distracted motion, although Eames noted every silken brush of locks on his skin.

“Now you’ve covered me in your saliva as well,” Eames mock-complained in a whisper as Arthur shifted to lay alongside him.

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve licked you, you’re mine now.” He put an arm over Eames, casual as you like, as if he hadn’t just said that.

“Am I?”

Turning away, Arthur gave a huge jaw-cracking yawn then. “What?” he asked, turning back, settling in again.

“Nothing,” Eames said, watching the ceiling fan and waited for something in him to object to being Arthur’s, but nothing came. He could do much worse, actually, than being Arthur’s. But best not to think about that right now, perhaps.

Arthur reached to put out the lamp, and draped himself half over Eames. “I don’t think I need to tell you,” he said, “I wouldn’t bring just anyone out here.”

“Does that mean you trust me, then?” Eames asked lightly, flip.

Arthur chuckled quietly. “No.”

Eames felt a flutter in his stomach, and couldn’t help grinning. “You shouldn’t,” he agreed. “I’m simply awful.”

“Mm, I know,” Arthur said, fond, stretching to kiss his cheek.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames woke up naked on a bearskin rug, before a crackling fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 6 for the square _altered states_. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

“I have a present for us,” Arthur announced, striding onto the porch, shorts threatening to slip off his hips. He tugged them up. Eames was lounging in the hammock in an attitude intended to be not unlike that of the Barberini faun and equally as nude. He opened his eyes and sat up. “Mm?”

“Well, as you know, I brought the PASIV.” Arthur leaned on the doorjamb.

Eames nodded. “Of course.”

“I also brought a really cool compound.” Arthur folded his arms, pleased with himself.

“Oh?” Eames said, sitting up properly, keen. “What’s it do?”

Arthur smiled. “It makes you feel really, really relaxed and happy.”

Eames slumped. “Oh, Arthur, that’s terribly boring,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. “Just relaxation and happiness? We could do that with weed.”

“Weed gives me a headache,” Arthur said, defensiveness creasing his brow. “And, um, sometimes it makes me lose my erection.”

“Well, I don’t have any weed, anyway,” Eames lied, making a mental note to change his plans in that regard. No sense wasting perfectly good weed.

“Don’t you want to go under while we’re out here?” Arthur said, a little bit of longing in his tone. Arthur did so love dreaming. “Fuck while we’re under?”

“I prefer topside sex,” Eames said, mentally adding “With you, anyway, that is.” 

In truth, he’d had his fair share of sex in the dream world, but for specific purposes and dalliances, never as some sort of... romantic adventure. Romantic adventure, with Arthur, in a dream, with them both relaxed and happy.... “Well, all right, nevermind. I don’t know why I was complaining. This is a brilliant idea.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, surprised by the about-face, but he pushed off the doorjamb and stalked toward Eames in that peculiar way he had of walking, and climbed into the hammock with him. “Good answer,” he said, leaning in to kiss him, one hand trailing down Eames’ stomach to his cock.

After they ate that evening out on the beach, they retired to bed and Arthur set up the PASIV.

Eames woke up naked on a bearskin rug, before a crackling fire. Arthur’s doing, and a nice contrast to where they were topside. 

He could hear a howling wind outside and see snow dashed against the window, could even sense the chill being kept at bay by the flames. Then he realized the compound was taking effect, and that was why he felt especially warm and, dare he say, cozy. He turned to Arthur, who was stretched out naked on the rug next to him.

Barring moments of frustration, Arthur’s expression was usually very composed, even impassive. Now, however, he was relaxed, gently smiling, expression warmer than Eames had ever seen it. His eyes were twinkling. 

Eames grinned helplessly back.

“See? Told you you’d like it,” Arthur said, leaning in to kiss him.

The kiss was slow, hot. It seeped into Eames’ bones like warm honey, flowing through him. The rug was perfectly soft at his back, and Arthur’s skin at his fingertips felt even smoother than it did topside. He exhaled in a little sigh, and felt Arthur smile against his lips.

Relaxed as Eames was, it didn’t take much effort on either of their parts until Eames was spread out wantonly beneath Arthur, making soft little sounds into the kiss. Arthur seemed very interested in kissing him, however, not that Eames really minded.

The kissing seemed to last for ages; he felt lulled into a trance. Arthur nipped at, even sucked on his lips, and Eames felt very pleased with himself that he could provide Arthur with something he enjoyed so much. 

When Eames touched his hair, he realized Arthur’s curls were loose, silky-soft at his fingertips. He lost himself in the texture for a while, and realized Arthur was kissing his jaw, his neck. Every touch of his lips sent a blooming warmth through Eames. 

Arthur kissed down his chest, over his nipples, his belly. He took Eames’ cock in his mouth and sucked at him for some moments that had Eames loose-limbed and blissful, although he didn’t come.

“Arthur,” Eames sighed, and Arthur hummed, long and low and content.

Eames realized Arthur was fucking him now, pressing his legs back, the bearskin feeling delicious as it rubbed against him. He was warm, so warm and pliant....

Arthur looked down at him with utter fondness, face flushed and relaxed. Eames felt a pang in his chest at the sight, a pang that was tempered and then washed away by the compound until all he was thinking about or caring about was Arthur fucking him. Arthur felt wonderful inside him; Arthur knew just what he liked, and had anyone ever told him he had beautiful eyes? Eames realized he was saying these things aloud, but didn’t care.

Eames wrapped a hand around himself, felt his peak start to slowly swell, and came with Arthur watching him, on a tremendous wave of pleasure that he felt all through his bones. He groaned with it, and Arthur murmured. Eames cupped Arthur’s face, watched his jaw slacken, his eyes close just before he came as well, at which point he stared directly into Eames’ eyes, huffing out breaths. 

Eames wrapped himself around Arthur, feeling him sink into him, content, drifting as though they were floating together in a warm sea. Eames couldn’t remember ever feeling better.

The moment he woke up, he felt panicked.

It started small, small enough to hide. Part of him was still clinging to and reveling in how he’d felt in the dream -- the warmth, the bliss, that look on Arthur’s face.

 _Not real_ , he reminded himself. _We were dreaming_.

He looked over to Arthur, who was stretching, smiling to himself. The small smile immediately reminded Eames of the dream -- would Arthur ever smile at him like that topside? Did Arthur want to?

For that matter, did Eames want him to?

Eames had to admit he did.

“Told you that would be nice,” Arthur said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes,” Eames said absently. He suddenly wondered how often Arthur had done this, taken people dreaming with a compound that made you feel that good. Perhaps it was nothing special to him. Perhaps he made a habit, too, of taking lovers on trips and sussing out what they liked best. Nothing wrong with that, really; admirable quality, being a generous and considerate lover. It was just that, well, Eames liked knowing what game was being played. If he was one of many, no sense in acting as though he was the only one.

PASIV disconnected and put away, they slept -- or rather, Arthur did, pressed to Eames’ back and with an arm over him. Eames lay awake. He could almost feel Arthur inside him, could still feel the soft glow of the dream. It seemed orange, for some reason, a lovely, warm orange.

When Arthur had asked him on this trip, Eames had felt immediately that the combination of Arthur and a house on a private beach was a no-brainer. They’d only slept with each other a handful of times, and Eames was a bit surprised at being singled out. 

Arthur’s attentiveness the past few days had made him start to feel special in the man’s eyes, he had to admit. Now, he wondered if Arthur made these trips often.

It was dangerous, especially in this business, to let others know what you wanted, how your mind worked. Had Arthur been entering his dream to get information from him, Eames’ mind would have fought back. But Arthur had only brought him pleasure, and his mind had welcomed it.

What did Arthur want from him?


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it had been anyone other than Arthur, he’d already be packing, bored and ready to file the trip’s events away as a pleasant memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 6 for the square _service_. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Arthur kissed his forehead. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?” he observed, far too astute for having just woken up.

“No,” Eames admitted, groggy.

“You want to sleep in, then? I’ll bring you tea, breakfast in bed. Whatever you want.” Arthur sat up, expectant and gorgeous in the morning light. “You indulged me last night, I’ll indulge you all day today.”

The night before, they’d used the PASIV to have sex, using a compound that made one exceptionally happy and relaxed. Although he’d loved the way he felt in the dream, Eames hadn’t known what to think afterward. Did Arthur do this often? Did Arthur’s actions and expressions in the dream reflect anything of how he really felt?

“Sleep here with me and then make me some tea and breakfast,” Eames requested, and Arthur lay down again. 

They dozed, Eames feeling much more rested when he woke some time later. Arthur fetched him tea, and brought them a tray of breakfast foods. He fed slices of fruit to Eames, put butter and marmalade on his toast and fed those pieces to him as well. When Eames wanted more tea, he went to get it straightaway.

Arthur drew him a bath, and honest-to-god bathed him, getting in the other side of the clawfoot tub to lather him up, wash his hair, and give him a lovely wank under the water. 

The warmth, the relaxation reminded him of that damned dreaming from the night before, but he didn’t mind so much now. 

Arthur smiled at him; Arthur was hard, but made no move to get himself off, or to ask Eames to. It wasn’t until Eames asked that Arthur let him, all the while behaving as though this was something he was doing for Eames.

Arthur dried them off, and Eames said he’d like to go walking on the beach. Arthur coated him in sunscreen, and then submitted to Eames’ request to be allowed to apply same to Arthur. 

They spent the next few hours walking on the sand and occasionally swimming. If Eames wanted to kiss Arthur, he drew him near and kissed him; if he wanted to talk, they talked. 

At lunch, Arthur made sandwiches for them, and then applied aloe vera gel to Eames’ pinkened skin. His touch was so tender it was almost like a massage.

Eames was starting to feel overwhelmed, though he didn’t say as much to Arthur. He suggested a nap, and lay awake while Arthur dozed. Arthur deserved and needed the rest, Eames thought, after all he’d done today.

Eames wasn’t sure what to think, and he hated being caught flat-footed. So much easier to just have a casual shag. This was why he didn’t come on holidays with people. That and the fact that most people he knew were prats or villains of some sort. Well, Arthur was a prat, and a villain a lot of the time, but Arthur was different.

Yes, Arthur was different.

As a teenager, Eames had fallen head over heels; incidentally, with the man he’d told Arthur about the other night in his story about the first time he’d given head, Gerald. That had crashed and burned, however, and what with his service and then the particular lines of work he’d gotten himself into, he really hadn’t been in any position to fall for anyone. 

Well, truth be told, he wasn’t in such a position now either, yet here he was.

There were patterns Eames was used to. Charming someone into flustered distraction so it’d be easier to nick his wallet. Flirting relentlessly in the dreamscape, making some poor slob think his dreams were going to come true (ha ha). Getting a one-night-stand on the hook and releasing him to the wild the next morning without a hint of regret. He was usually on his way to some other locale, conveniently enough. It was all easy, so easy. 

He could never seem to get one over on Arthur, though. Around Arthur he felt raw, exposed, though he tried his best to hide it. 

Arthur tended to sleep with his limbs akimbo, like an exhausted child. His face was slack and relaxed now, because he felt safe with Eames. Eames, who could up and leave him here any time now. Eames, who would do no such thing.

Part of him did want to go, to get back to one of his homes and regroup, holed up alone. If it had been anyone other than Arthur, he’d already be packing, bored and ready to file the trip’s events away as a pleasant memory. That is, if there were anyone else who would have done these things for him.

No, Eames wasn’t going to be leaving.

He slipped into a fitful doze, waking up facing away from Arthur, who was still out like a light, Eames saw when he turned over. He looked so appealing that Eames wrapped an arm over him, pulled him closer, and kissed his cheek. 

Arthur smiled, blinking awake, stretching. “What do you want to do now?” he asked. 

Eames fucked him spread out in the middle of the bed, flushed and still a bit drowsy. 

As Eames binned the condom, he felt as though he ought not to have done that, not if he was still trying to work out how he felt here with Arthur. But after all, Arthur was utterly lovely and Eames couldn’t have been expected to be able to resist a quick post-nap shag.

The way Arthur looked afterward was a reward in itself -- yet more flushed, a little clumsy, grinning at nothing. Eames couldn’t help feeling a bit proud of himself. Despite his enjoyment of all that, though, he couldn’t escape the fact that things were getting more complicated.

They ate on the beach that evening, as they’d been doing, but Eames felt subdued, unable to keep up his end of the conversation. Arthur snuck little concerned glances his way, and at last, it frayed Eames’ nerves.

“Oh, do stop looking at me like that,” he snapped, and immediately felt awful as he watched Arthur deflate -- barely perceptible, but it was there. Arthur went quiet. Eames knew he should apologize but couldn’t quite do it.

Couldn’t, at least, until they went to bed that night and Arthur was so blank, neutral, and withdrawn that Eames couldn’t stand it.

“‘M sorry, love,” he whispered in the dark, reaching out for Arthur.

After a long moment, Arthur turned to him, got under his arm, and curled close. “It’s okay,” he whispered.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur just looked at him for a bit, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mild danger kink via emotion play. Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Round 6 for the square _danger_. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Eames woke up first the next morning, and got out of bed as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Arthur. They had one full day left here, and he wanted to collect his thoughts before the holiday was over.

Everything had started out rather casual and not so complicated. Having shagged Arthur a handful of times, Eames had accepted his invitation to a house on a private beach for a few days. 

Arthur had sussed out that Eames had sensitive nipples, and honed in on the fact. Which was both enjoyable and flattering. He’d come all over Eames, which was interesting and had smacked a bit of possessiveness, but not necessarily to a worrying extent. In fact, truth be told, Eames liked it.

The dreamsharing they’d done the other night concerned him more. Arthur had used a compound that made them feel especially relaxed and happy, which would have been all well and good for a casual shag, but somewhere on this trip, Arthur had become more than a casual shag. Eames just wasn’t sure when that had happened. Perhaps it had been cemented the following day, when Arthur spent the entire time pampering and caring for him. Would he have bothered if using that compound was a frequent occurrence for him?

He opened his eyes at the sound of Arthur coming in to the bathroom, and watched him sit on the toilet seat lid. “Eames,” Arthur said with a nod, impassive.

“Morning, love,” Eames replied, quiet.

Arthur just looked at him for a bit, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Eames’ heart started pounding faster. “Nothing’s bothering me,” he said lightly.

“Eames. You’re going to tell me what’s bothering you,” Arthur stated, calm.

“I won’t,” Eames said, closing his eyes and sinking down in the water a bit.

“So. Something is bothering you.”

Eames opened his eyes and glared at Arthur. “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Think how much better you’ll feel if you just tell me,” Arthur said, calm and low. Eames swallowed.

If anyone else had been querying him, he’d have been able to come up with something.

“You can have what you want,” Arthur said, “if you just tell me.”

“And what is it I want?” Eames asked, raising a brow.

“Isn’t that what’s bothering you?”

Eames felt a bit cross. “What do you mean?” 

“You think you don’t know what you want, and that bothers you.”

“Well, can you blame me?” Eames sat up a bit. “This is all a bit much for me, Arthur,” he said, gesturing, “it’s all a bit fast.” He shook his head.

Arthur sat back, quiet, watching him and looking thoughtful. “What we’ve had the past few days,” he said, “we could have that all the time.”

Eames nodded slightly, after a pause. His heart was back to pounding.

“I think you want that. I know I do.”

Eames swallowed. “Arthur,” he began, “Arthur, you barely know me.”

Arthur smiled. “I know you enough.”

That really made Eames’ heartbeat uptick. And there was unmistakable warmth in Arthur’s gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me right now,” Arthur said. He stood, bent down and kissed the top of Eames’ head. “Take your time.” And he left.

Eames sat in the bath for ten minutes or so more, his fingers gone pruney.

He got out, and dried off. In the bedroom, Arthur was stretched out, reading. He looked up when Eames came in, and smiled.

Naked, Eames took the chair from the desk and set it in the middle of the room. It was a standard four-legged chair, no rollers, wooden, with a back.

“Right, tie me to this,” he said.

Arthur raised his brow.

“Bind my ankles to it, put my hands behind it. Tie me up like you’re questioning me.” Arthur’s eyebrows went up even a tiny bit further. 

Eames realized he was shaking. “That’s the only way I’m going to tell you what I want, Arthur, it’s the only way.”

Arthur got up off the bed. “Okay.” He folded his arms, thinking, and then went to get his bag -- presumably to get rope. Yes, he crouched and pulled some out. “Should I blindfold you too?” he asked, dry, as he stood.

“Yes,” Eames decided. Arthur set the rope on the bed, and took out a tie from his bag, looking it over critically. Evidently, it passed the test, and he put it on the bed as well. Eames stood with his arms folded, watching. Arthur came over to him, cupped his jaw, and kissed him, a firm kiss, one that clung.

“Sit down,” he said.

Eames sat. Arthur wrapped the tie around his head, over his eyes, and gently tied it, testing the tension with a murmur. 

Eames could hear him cutting up the rope, and then he took hold of Eames’ arms and pulled them back to tie them together behind the chair. Arthur then lashed his ankles to the front legs of the chair. Eames took deep breaths. 

Arthur stood behind him and kissed the top of his head. “You good?”

“Yes,” Eames answered after a moment, hoarse. 

“Can you see?”

“No.”

“Can you move?”

Eames pulled at the ropes. No, Arthur had tied him firmly. He exhaled. “Not really.”

Arthur, still behind him, put his fingers to Eames’ jaw, touch feather-light. He guided Eames into tilting his head back, until it rested on Arthur’s stomach. “What do you want, Eames?” His fingers stroked the sides of Eames’ neck.

Eames’ heart was once again pounding like a rabbit’s. The word waited in his mouth; he almost said it, parting his lips, imagining how good it would feel to say it. At the last second, he stopped. Arthur waited, patient.

“What do you want, Eames?” he prompted, soft. Eames realized he was pulling ever so slightly at the ropes, then relaxing back into their holds.

“You,” Eames said, and shook a little with the relief of saying it.

He heard Arthur inhale. His fingertips skated over Eames’ lips, then ghosted over the stubble on his jaw.

“I’m right here,” Arthur said. “You can have me.”

Eames took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly.

“Like I said,” Arthur continued, “what we’ve had the past few days, we can have that whenever you want. If you want it.”

Eames swallowed, letting himself think of what Arthur was offering.

“Do you think I’d do this with just anyone?” Arthur asked.

Eames shook his head. “I didn’t know,” he whispered.

“Maybe you did know,” Arthur said, “and you thought it would be safer to assume I just did this stuff all the time.”

“Perhaps,” Eames whispered.

“I know how you are, Eames, I know how you have to be. You keep to yourself. It’s how we have to live in this business. But think,” he whispered, “think what we could be to each other.”

“The risk--” Eames began, mouth dry.

“Yeah, the risk, but Eames -- you’re a gambler.”

“I don’t always win,” Eames chuckled, mirthless, pulling at the ropes.

“Yeah, but Eames, with a potential score like this, I can’t imagine you wouldn’t bet.”

“It’s not money I’d be betting, though, Arthur. It’s myself.”

“Me too, Eames. I’m putting myself on the line. You think that doesn’t scare me?” Arthur pulled the tie off, tilted Eames’ head back a bit more, looking into Eames’ eyes. Eames turned his head, and Arthur followed his gaze, and stood before him. He put a finger under Eames’ chin. 

“Hey. You’re worth the trouble, Eames. We’re worth the trouble.”

Eames tried not to swallow, but couldn’t help it. He pulled at the ropes.

“You’re exhausting yourself, pulling,” Arthur pointed out. “Stop fighting it. Relax.”

The need to get out of this chair and touch Arthur was growing stronger. “If I relax,” Eames said, “will you let me out?”

“Absolutely. Whatever you want.”

Slowly, slowly, Eames let himself relax. He closed his eyes, willing the tension to ebb from his muscles. 

At last, he looked to Arthur. “Untie me,” he said, and Arthur got his pocketknife and cut him free. He helped Eames to his feet, took his hand, and led him to the bed. Eames laid down and Arthur stretched out with him, close, petting, touching, stroking him. 

“Thank you. For trusting me enough to let me do that. I’m sorry this was so much for you,” Arthur said, and Eames opened his eyes (when had he closed them?). Arthur’s gaze was calm, warm, and fond. 

“I’ll be fine,” Eames said.

“While I’m overwhelming you,” Arthur said, “let me tell you that when we leave tomorrow, if you want to fly with me to New York, you can stay with me as long as you like. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”

Eames was quiet for a long while. “You’ve given me so much,” he finally said. “What have I given you?”

“Yourself,” Arthur said without hesitation, seeming surprised at the question.

“I don’t come with a warranty, Arthur.”

“I know. I don’t either.” Arthur shrugged, still petting him.

“So we’re stuck with each other, then.”

“Can you think of anyone else you’d rather be stuck with?”

Eames took Arthur’s hand from his side, brought it to his lips, and kissed his palm. “Arthur, there’s no one else in existence.”

“Now doesn’t it feel good to admit that?”

“Hush, you. You’ve gotten me to admit enough today,” Eames mock-groused.

Arthur just chuckled, putting an arm over him. He seemed to be dozing off. That wouldn’t do. 

“Arthur.”

“Mm.”

“I think I will go with you to New York.”

Arthur opened his eyes. “Mm, good, I’m glad.”

“Hopefully you won’t get tired of me,” Eames added lightly.

“Mm.” Arthur shifted closer and stifled a yawn. “Eames, if I was going to get tired of you, that probably would have already happened.”

“Always so practical, my Arthur,” Eames sighed. 

Arthur chuckled softly, and kissed his neck. “Yes. Your Arthur.”


	6. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short coda :)

It had been a spate of busy jobs for both of them, but they were scheduled to be in the same city for exactly two days. Over the past year, they had gone through stretches of breakneck work -- not usually on the same jobs -- followed by extended breaks where they holed up together in secret, getting to know each other all over again. 

Astonishingly, Eames seemed to fall more in love with Arthur every time he saw him waiting for him: in a hotel lobby, at a taxi stand, in the airport. A little frown before he spotted Eames, as he scanned the crowds; a small private smile once he did, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

Arthur always made sure he’d eaten or that he’d had tea, made sure he didn’t forget anything when he was packing to leave. Eames was, of course, perfectly capable of looking after himself and had survived for years without Arthur tending to him, but now he couldn’t imagine going without it, without him. Somehow the realization that he needed Arthur wasn’t as scary as it had once been. But then, Eames had never been a coward, really. Just prudent where it counted.

They were both flying out today, to different cities. It was raining and gloomy outside over the streets below, matching Eames’ mood. Arthur, who had let Eames sleep, paused in his busy suitcase-packing to kiss the top of Eames’ head where he sat on the bed in his underthings, brooding. 

Eames grabbed his arm as he started to walk off, and pulled him into his lap, long limbs and all. Arthur wrapped his arms around him, silent, and squeezed him. “Love you,” he said, soft, after a moment.

“Mm, love you too,” Eames said, still feeling that little ache that jolted his chest whenever he spoke those words to Arthur or heard them from him. “I’ll miss you terribly,” he added on a sigh.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed as well. “I’ll be picking you up in Montreal in three weeks, though, and then it’s home to New York for a while.” It no longer rattled Eames to hear Arthur’s New York penthouse flat described as “home.” Eames had several homes, and that was decidedly one of them.

“You’ll wrinkle your trousers,” Eames said finally, loosening his hold. 

Arthur scoffed and gave him a kiss -- a “we need to leave soon” kiss rather than a “let’s make out” kiss, but sweet nonetheless -- and got to his feet. 

“You’ve got the book I wanted you to read?” Eames asked.

“Yes. Come on, get dressed.”

With a sigh, Eames got to his feet, and put on his trousers and shirt while Arthur finished packing. 

They were quiet on the drive to the airport. The taxi driver was playing the public radio station, and it was still raining. Arthur found his hand and held it, and Eames gave him a gentle squeeze. They stayed like that the rest of the trip. Arthur most often watched the traffic and the rain, face impassive; every now and then he’d cut his gaze over to Eames, catch his eye (Eames too was staring distractedly at the rain, trying not to wallow and failing) and give him a soft look.

When the time came for them to part ways at the airport, in a little nook away from the hustle and bustle Eames embraced Arthur. 

“Be good,” Arthur whispered, smiling with a fond, teasing glint in his eyes, and kissed him. 

Eames got a lump in his throat. “I won’t. Be safe,” he managed to whisper back, fervent, though he smiled. Arthur bent to gather his things.

“You too. Call me when you land. Love you,” Arthur said, and turned to go, with a small smile.

“Love you too, darling,” Eames said after him, already counting down the days until Montreal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/) and Liz for all your help!


End file.
